Kendo's Video

Then, when I'd waved the last car off and shut the front door and turned off the porch light, I stepped out of my shoes and collapsed to the floor, wheezing like I'd just run a marathon.

Maybe not that bad.

But my chest felt like I couldn't get enough air in it for a good two or three minutes, and by the time it relaxed back to just about normal, the weight of my phone in my pocket had turned into a lead brick. My whole abdomen and rib cage lit up with electric fire. The erection that had thankfully disappeared during the shut-down of the party came back full force.

I was about to stand up, go to my room, and masturbate to a video of my mom sucking three guys off and then telling them that once she got drunk enough, they could --

That's when I realized Mom was still lying bombed on the front-room couch, not five feet from where I'd sat down in the middle of the foyer floor.

Oh shit I'm going to look up and she's going to be looking right at me and she's going to see this fucking boner and she'll know. Oh my god, she's going to know I was about to whack off to that video, that I sent it to myself, that ...

I forced myself to look up.

In the dim light, I saw that she remained exactly as I'd left her. Or, exactly as Sandy had left her. He'd shifted the front of her cardigan all the way open to feel her up through her t-shirt -- a plain one, thin and white, contrasting sweetly with the grey of her sweater and the black of those tight, smooth yoga pants. Good thing it wasn't a v-neck or he'd probably have gotten his hands in it and slipped them into the cups of her bra with --

Fuck.

Sandy had been right. Mom's tits looked amazing. Who could have resisted those perfectly curved dunes, knowing what she'd said at the end of that video?

Hell, if she had on a v-neck, I'd be over there right now, sliding my fingers --

"Jesus Christ," I muttered, forcing my eyes away from her breasts to stare down at my bulging crotch.

In that moment, sitting in the gloom with my mother breathing evenly in her sleep just a few feet away, I realized that her last words in that video -- whether intentionally or not -- included me.

Anyone who wants to can fuck me in my sleep.

The digitized images and sounds of Mom suctioning cum from three different cocks had possessed my sex-drive so completely, I hadn't even thought about whether her offer would tempt me. How could I? How could I imagine the possibility that instead of Kendo, or Don, or Trace (or even Sandy!), I would be the one in the position to bang my mother while she lay unconscious on our couch?

Obviously, I wouldn't do it. Couldn't do it. Couldn't even consider it.

But it entered your head, or why would you still be sitting here instead of already up and in your room beating off to that video?

Well, for one thing, I needed to check on her, didn't I? Getting this plastered wasn't exactly something Mom did on a regular basis. How responsible would it be for me to just assume she was okay while I ran off to masturbate?

The excuse felt plausible. I straightened up and looked over at her, watched her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady cycle. I'm just watching it to make sure she's all right, I told myself. Not because of those oh-my-god breasts that make me want to run over and grab them and --

I slapped a hand over my eyes.

Why had she put herself in this position? Why had she put me in this position?

"Because she didn't know you'd be in this position, dumbass," I said out loud. She'd never have expected Kendo to show me that video. She probably wouldn't even have expected I'd be enough of a sicko to watch the whole thing if it somehow fell into my hands. That made me feel a little more stable. It was only herself Mom had set up this way.

Herself and my three friends.

Why, for god's sake?

And then, looking at her spilled across the couch at the mercy of any depraved teen who might have a few minutes alone with her, I realized why.

Jack.

Mom wasn't even supposed to be home this weekend. She and her boyfriend had a weekend away planned, and she'd gotten in his car and driven off with him Friday afternoon -- only come back late that night, slamming the front door and steaming down the hall with her roller-bag in tow, past the game room where I sat playing, not even a glance my way or a "hello" or a word of explanation. That was pretty easy to read. She'd been saying for a couple months that she was fed up with him telling her things like, "Babe, you're a solid seven, but if you'd just work out a couple more times a week, you'd get to eight pretty quick." So I basically thought, It's about time, and went back to my game. Then this morning she'd confirmed they broke up but said she didn't want to talk about it. She seemed super-bummed for a woman who'd just gotten rid of a total dickhead, though, and I asked her if she wanted me to cancel my party, and she said no, that was ridiculous. And then she mostly acted like she was okay the rest of the day, and went back to her room when the party got started.

But obviously she hadn't been okay. Dickhead Jack had gotten to her, and even though she'd given him the boot, months of him negging on her had made her feel like shit about herself.

She wanted to know she was hot. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. That fucker got in her head and took a dump on her confidence, and she decided she was going to get it back. She was going to show herself she still had it -- that guys half her age wouldn't be able to keep their hands off her if she led them on.

That's what the look in her eyes had been, in that video: a woman showing herself that not only was she enough for any man, she was more than three guys could handle. And she knew my friends were basically good dudes; she knew if any of them took her up on that "fuck me in my sleep" invitation, it was because they just couldn't help themselves.

The idea made me kind of proud of her. She'd been letting Jack walk all over her self-esteem for nearly a year, and by damn, she was going to find a way to bounce back.

Plus, she was hot enough to pull it off.

I thought back to Kendo and the guys hanging out like a bunch of lame-asses at the edge of the dance floor. They'd looked like guys who'd wanted something -- wanted it bad -- and didn't quite have the nerve to go for it. I'd figured they were just waiting for a chance to cut in on somebody's dance partner, but they weren't. They were trying to work up the courage to give my mom what she'd basically said she wanted. Or maybe trying to come up with a plan. Or something like that.

Why the fuck am I not more pissed at them? Jesus, they might have carried her into her room and gangbanged her while she was out.

But that video.

Those eyes of hers, staring right into mine through the camera.

That porn-star hat-trick of making three guys come in the space of five minutes.

And the way she topped it off with that almost-invitation -- which did not sound like she was joking.

I mean, just the video made me want to do my own mother. I hadn't even been there. How could I hold it against them that they wanted more of what she'd just given them? Especially when she sure seemed to be offering more?

I sighed and stood up.

"Damn, Mom," I said quietly, staring down at her gorgeous tits and those long legs of hers in the tight black yoga pants, "I guess ... sorry I cock-blocked you."

Okay, Adam, show's over. Go on in your room, take care of business, and maybe you'll have a wet dream about her.

But I still didn't move.

Those tits.

And goddamn Sandy had gotten to find out what they felt like.

That burning, hard-to-breathe feeling had returned to my chest.

Don't. Fuck, man, just don't.

And I didn't.

But I also didn't go to my room.

I just stood there like an idiot with my cock still straining away in my pants and my eyes locked on her boobs.

Which, it suddenly dawned on me, were still going to be there and waiting to tempt me even if I went in my room and jacked out a load watching her suck my friends on my phone.

Damn it, I realized, I'm going to loop through that video two or three times before I get myself off, and once I come, I'm going to finish watching, and it's going to end with her saying the exact same thing.

So even the prospect of making myself orgasm to the sights and sounds of Mom's blowjob extravaganza wouldn't undo the temptation I felt right now, looking down at her on the couch.

Yeah. But there is a way to get rid of that temptation.

I forced myself to take the two steps over to her, lean down, and shake her by the shoulder, hard.

"Mom." If I could make her come to, even just enough to get her up and support her as she stumbled down the hall, I could put her to bed in her room and lock her door on my way out. I shook harder. "Mom."

It was a great plan.

Except.

Holy hell, she's really dead to the world.

The only thing I accomplished, yanking at her upper arm, was to rock her body enough that her head lolled and her boobs jiggled. Oh, god. That's not going to help. She hadn't even let out a moan or a mumble, and the rolling wave that went through the curves of her chest only made me stare again. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried one more time.

"MOM."

Nothing.

Pat her face.

No response.

She's ticklish. Poke her ribs.

No response.

"Anyone who wants to can fuck me in my sleep."

She'd actually gotten that drunk.

Worse than that -- knowing it was true made my erection surge even more painfully against the seams of my underwear. I had to get her in her room and lock the door between us. Otherwise, at some point tonight, I was going to find myself with my hands on her breasts -- maybe even inside her shirt.

Maybe even somewhere else. Shit. Shit shit shit.

Dropping to my knees beside the couch, I looked back and forth from her neck and shoulders to her knees. She was pretty tall -- almost exactly my height -- curvy without being overweight, but definitely not thin. She probably weighed a hundred and forty ... a hundred and fifty? And I didn't think of myself as a particularly strong guy. Could I manage her in a bridal carry without dropping her?

Fuck, I totally should have had someone help me with her before I shooed them all out. Why the hell didn't I think of that? Duh, because all you could think about was getting them away from her so they couldn't ...

So they couldn't do what she'd told them they could do.

So she wouldn't wake up in the morning with a vagina full of teenage cum and know that she'd successfully made herself irresistible to them.

Did she really want that?

I felt like smacking my knuckles with a ruler. It doesn't matter. Get your mind off that and figure out how to pick her up. Knees first, I guess?

My right hand moved forward ... but like I was trying to figure out how close I could get it to a stove burner before my flesh scorched.

Come on, I told myself. Just do it.

I got my fingers under her right knee. Then my whole hand. With growing confidence, I slipped my entire forearm between the black fabric of her pants and the sofa cushion. Then I lifted up and got both her knees free of the couch, her lower legs folding across the crook of my arm, calves warm and soft.

"Okay ... now ..."

To reach under her shoulders, I had to scoot a little to my left, bringing her thighs all the way vertical and making it clear that her lower body had a pretty serious heft to it. It's okay, though. Guys do this in movies all the time.

Only they didn't, actually. Women getting carried around in movies could put an arm around the man's neck, keep their backs straight -- use several different kinds of leverage to help with the lifting. When I worked my left arm in under Mom's shoulders, she was all dead weight and loose limbs. She folded in half like a huge, lady-shaped bag of wet spaghetti.

And she was heavy.

"Oof," I said, falling forward to let her back down before I'd even raised her abdomen and ass from the cushions.

Extra-oof: I came down with my left arm trapped beneath her upper back and without enough balance to keep from leaning into her in that direction. Her thighs folded all the way up to her stomach -- and my chest pressed directly against the soft fullness of her right breast. I lay against her, my arms full of her warmth, the gentle curves of her flesh flush against my own. The scent of Godiva liqueur floated up as her chest moved evenly in time with her breathing.

She felt so ... shockingly good in my arms.

Oh. Shit.

I needed to get out of there.

I really, really needed to pull loose, stand up, and walk away.

But she felt so good. And the lovely, quiet lines of her face stunned me, even there in the dim light. Her lips lay partly open and so close to mine. It would take no effort at all to lean just a little more and put my mouth to hers.

Instead, I clenched my jaw and worked my left arm out from under her shoulders, then let her knees back down until I could free my right. When her feet landed on the upholstery, though, they arrested the fall of her legs, so that gravity pulled the left one over against the back of the couch, knee still bent -- and brought the right one out just enough for the foot to slide loose from the cushion and swing down to the carpet.

I'd gotten loose. But now, to my horror, she lay sprawled with her legs wide open, one on the couch and one off, and every curve of her lower body revealed within the taut fabric of those damned yoga pants.

Just ... put her back the way she was and get out of here, I told myself. Look away from her crotch and straighten her back out.

But there it was, the puffy swell of her mound, not quite camel-toed by the tight-stretched fabric in which it rested, but a smooth, clean shape unmistakeable even in the poor light. I'd seen it before -- in quick, guilty glimpses when she had on snug-fitting pants or shorts or her bathing suit and something distracted her enough that I dared to let my gaze drop down there for just a second or two. Now, though, I could stare all I wanted. I could reach over there and ... no.

Or I could lean close, tilt my head to get my nose right up to it, and breathe in the smell of ... NO.

I got my eyes off of her, closed them a second, then took hold of her leg under the ankle and knee and eased it back up onto the couch, straightening it full length as I did.

That's one.

The left leg went even easier -- I just had to push her ankle a bit and her foot slid down next to the other one.

Okay.

I stood up. The madness seemed to recede. Time to turn and walk away.

Except some little voice in my head said, "Just one more look down there before you go. When's the next time you're going to be able to ogle that sweet little spot?"

So I looked. Down there below the soft embankment of her tummy, at that y-shaped juncture of legs and pelvis, my eyes found and fell on that one womanly curve to beat all others.

God, it's so perfect.

And if Sandy hadn't let me catch him groping her, or if Kerry and I had taken a little longer breaking up, or if any of a dozen other ifs ... one or more of the guys might have gotten in there tonight.

Like she wanted, I thought as I continued eyeing the bump my mom's pussy made in her pants. I couldn't know it for sure -- she might just have been teasing them. But she had sure sounded serious. Only, if she was, why wouldn't she just sneak one back in her room to boff her? Or hell, after blowing them all at the same time, why not sneak them all back in? She had to have been horny enough to, after that jizz-throbbing sausage-fest ...

Oh, shit.

As much as she obviously loved getting the guys off, and as wickedly as she smiled at them right at the end, she had to have been horny as hell by the time she finished them off. And if sucking them off had gotten her wet ...

Would I still be able to smell it?

Little Voice in my Head: the Sequel, said, "No reason not to find out -- just bend over and take a sniff. Is that really any different than staring? Same idea. Just a different sense, is all."

No, no-no-nonono ... no.

I could hear how fast my breathing had gotten, instantly. Fast and rough, through my nose. It was like my diaphragm couldn't move quickly enough.

Pussy.

Was that the little voice in my head insulting me? Or me thinking of what I was about to smell?

I looked at Mom's face, just a glance to be sure, and saw that her head hadn't moved an inch.

"Jesus," I whispered.

Then I bent my knees a little and leaned down, the billowy prominence of her mound filling my view as I got closer and closer -- close as I could get, with my face turned a little so my nose paralleled the gap between her legs and my nostrils almost touched her crotch. My heart pounded so loud as I breathed in, I was almost scared it would wake her. But as soon as I took that first breath --

Heaven.

They'd gotten her hot, all right. Hot enough her pussy juice must have soaked all the way through her panties to the spandex, or whatever her yoga pants were made of. The smell of a woman's arousal shot through my chest like I'd just opened an oven. And I just stood there, bent over and basking in it. Breath after breath after breath -- that rich, sweet-sharp odor rolled through my head, saturated my brain, ran like wildfire down through my chest and abdomen, and set off the literal mother of all erections in my pants.

I couldn't make it back to my room. I had to whack off right then and there, smelling that smell. Mom was so far out she couldn't possibly wake up, and with my lungs clogged full of her glorious smell, this would not take long at all, so I didn't even look up from where I'd hung my head above her groin. I just undid my belt and button and fly as fast as my shaking hands could manage, shoved my pants and underwear down to my thighs, and grabbed my aching cock in one tight fist while my other hand hung on to the edge of the couch for support.

God, Mom, you smell so good, I thought. That scent, like honey and hot, fresh bread, turned my nose and my cock into the only two parts of my body I had any real awareness of. The pumping of my hand wasn't a willed action but entirely a sensation, a rhythmic pleasure tied directly to each breath of female passion I drew in and held as long as I could. My whole existence became the delicious waft of her against the chemical receptors of my nose and the plunging tight squeeze milking my shaft. Mom, Mom ... so good ... At some point, the liquid roll of precum through my erection must have registered in my brain enough to lift me from the engulfing waves of sex smell and masturbatory urge and let me sweep my hand around my knob, lubricating them both until the rut of dry hand-job morphed into an ecstasy of slippery stroking. "Uhhh, Mom, your cunt feels so good ..."

The sound of my own voice stopped me, whipped my head up out of her crotch to make sure I hadn't woken her. In the quiet dark of our front room, nothing moved except the slow rise and fall of her chest and the pounding engine of my heart. She remained utterly slack, her angelic face still turned at the exact same angle. A pulse of pure relief ran through me.